Timshel
by Penny W
Summary: "Ben," She faltered. "What am I doing?"   "Doing what you must." Ben returned.
1. Prologue

_ Seal my heart and brake my pride  
I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide  
Align my heart, my body, my mind  
To face what I've done and do my time_

_-_Dust Bowl Dance (Mumford & Sons)

The rain is pouring down the window as Ben sat in his chair. He was bored, his chin resting comfortably within his palm as he stared into the nothingness. Walter, who had begun to pace, was speaking to no end of the financial crisis that had overwhelmed the monarch. The treasury was bone dry and each passing day, Walter grew nervous, causing for his talks to grow more long and more boring. He could feel Walter's nervousness grow as he spoke, his stubby fingers moving over nothing. Nervous for the impending invasion, nervous for the people and, most importantly, nervous for the new queen's reign, Walter had these talks a least daily as of late.

"Esther," Walter said to the young queen. "We must consider the repercussions of every action we take. We can only allow allocate so much money to abolish poverty, if we want the people to exist this time next year."

Esther sighed, rubbing her hands together and closing her eyes. She really was quite beautiful, Ben knew very well - he had spent enough time staring at her features to swear by the statement. Long eyelashes surrounding deep brown eyes, blushing cheeks and a swan like neck, she could command attention of any young man. However it was hard to see her beauty as she was constantly tense lately, dark circles surrounding her eyes. A joke scarcely escaped her lips, while a smile was even rarer. It was hard to think of what she had been not just six months earlier.

Before her, papers were scattered and piled in no order. Paper weights and pens kept them company. Ben had no idea what they read and he doubted that he would understand what they said if he could.

"And if they die to starvation I will have no people to govern!" She returned, her voice firm.

Walter nodded, his lips becoming a thin line. His hands were behind his back and he looked terribly out of place, even with all his knowledge. Before Aurora, Ben could remember a jovial man, ready to protect the monarch he held so dear. In the months since, he had grown thin and elderly. His own eyes were growing dark from apparent age.

Esther's eyes returned to the papers. "There must be somewhere we can get gold."

Her fingers began to shift through the paper work, gazing at the pieces that she picked up. This was not the first time she had done this, nor was it the second. Every day, it seemed, she searched through her official paper work, begging the unseen for a miracle so that she might keep her promises as well as lead Albion to victory. It had been three months since Logan's trial, and it had been three months of fruitless search.

If Ben had anything other than love and respect for Esther, he would have called the search borderline pathetic. Page had always told him that he was too soft on her, that she had to learn. Ben knew she was right. Both men stared at the woman as she searched, the papers scrapping against one another accompanying the rain for noise. Ben wanted to reach out to stop her hand, to hold her, to tell her that it would be alright, everything would work out but he could make no such promise. He had no idea if they would survive, let alone if the six million people that populate his homeland would. Instead, he sat, silent, gazing at the woman before him.

/

The hours rolled passed slowly and tortuously until the clocks hit five in the evening. Esther arose from her seat and Walter dismissed himself quietly, leaving the room briskly. The two used to be friends, Ben knew. However, they had barely spoken since Walter had awoken in Aurora. He had accepted her apology, but something was still unforgiven, causing the friction. It was uncomfortable to watch from time to time and Ben more often than not chose not involve himself with the situation.

Ben approached the queen as she collected some papers. How strange it was to think of her as that. She was shorter than he, younger by a handful of years and more naive than any child that he ever met. At least she had been when he had met her. He stood proper and she stared at him. They remained silent for a moment.

The rain was a constant sound, beating against the window as though it wanted in. It was oddly quiet within the castle that day, with not even a servant's footsteps to fill the empty walls.

"Ben," She faltered. "What am I doing?"

Her eyes were warm with fear and he had to physical swallow back the urge to hold her once more. Ben broke eye contact, straightening his spine and remembering the oath he took when he joined the army. He was a pawn, nothing compared to her greatness. She would change the world, perhaps even save it.

There was no way fucking way he deserved to comfort her.

"Doing what you must." Ben returned quickly and regretted it immediately.

She turned stoic, nodding. Her own back turned straight and she turned away from him, gathering more papers into her hands. Ben could see scared tissue from sword and gun but could not study more as she turned toward him once more, quick and without emotion.

"If you would show yourself out, I have business to attend to." She said.

Ben nodded and watched as she slipped through the doors into her private office. He stood for a brief moment, wondering what he had done and what had happened. They had once been so easy with one another, joking and probing into each other's insecurities. It had been fun to see her flush at the mention of Alan, who later she married, and divorced. It had even been fun when she had picked up on him and Page so early on.

Ben turned and left the war room, feeling a cold draft as he did so. He walked through cool hallways and passed quiet servants, hand on his rifle. The uniform was growing uncomfortable and his back was growing tired from standing straight for show. He thought of home but the image was quick replaced by the tavern. He was quite liked that idea.

It was truly pouring out. The castle garden was like a giant puddle against the grey skies that overwhelmed the shape of Bowerstone. Aware that he had no hood or coat, Ben sighed. He was bound to be soaked.

He thought back to Mourningwood, the swamping forest and the hollowmen. He felt a vague sort of sadness at the days gone by, the short glimpse of the golden days he had. He thought of Captain Swift, the silly man with his giant mustache and wondering what he would have thought of the present. Being the true hero, without being a Hero, he would have probably been perfect for the job.

Ben was not. And he was aware of it.

He stepped out into the rain, feeling the cold trickle down his neck and began his long walk, unaware that the queen watched his frame leave the gates of the castle, a deep frown etched on her supposed beautiful features.

/

P: I am looking for a beta reader if anyone is offering. I kinda need one, really.

Timshel is a Hebrew word that means "thou mayest" and is tied to the idea of free will. Also, it's a Mumford & Sons song, a band that will be guiding force behind my hand for this story.

I was disappointed with the lack of Ben Finn lovin', like many out there, so I wrote this. Ben is a little depressing, I know, and he'll be back to normal in the next one (if I can organize my thoughts to write it). More will be coming (I think).

Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 1

P: Quick, hey? Well, I thought I would work on this before my vacation was over. I go back to work tomorrow, so expect some lateness.

depositink: Thank you so much for your review! Mumford & Sons are pretty much one of my favorite bands. Some angry man angst always does a writer good, I think, no matter what gender. Here's your next chapter. Hope you enjoy :DD

Oh, and thank you for the people who are following. My inbox is full of you guys now. Feel free to review too, though. Your thoughts are always appreciated.

I do have some sort of wibbly-wobbly plan but would love someone to help me work it out! Email or message if your interested in being my beta.

Enjoy!

/

It was not raining when Ben awoke. It was sunny and bright and it was hard to see much of anything other than a bright yellow that over took the room around him. It hurts his head. It hurts his chest. It hurts his toes. In fact, it occurs to him, everything attached to him hurt. He could almost feel his finger nails aching as they slowly grew against his skin, his entire being was so sensitive.

He smelt incense and water damage and realized that he had not fallen asleep in his bed, nor had he even fallen asleep in his own home. It hurt to open his eyes more, to scan the room. It was small, with cabinets of old books tipping from age, a sink somewhere far off in the corner and elderly stairs snaking upwards into another floor. Ben immediately regretted awaking. He also regretted even being born, knowing that he would have opted for the womb if he had any knowledge that this was where he would have ended after a drinking binge.

Ah, yes, he had been drinking. It had taken a moment for the memories to rush back into his rather foggy skull. After leaving the castle, he had wandered in the rain until reaching a less than savory pub in Industrial District. He had no idea how long he had stayed or how much he had to drink but doubted he really wanted to conjure up the memory. He was well known among his comrades in the army for spilling his secrets when under the influence.

He allowed his head hit the couch cushion behind him in exasperation. Avo must have hated him to allow him to drunkenly crawl up her steps. He must have hated_ himself _to allow himself to get so royally pissed to mistakenly believe that she would offer anything other than disdain.

"You're awake, then."

And there she was, in all her frightening glory. Page had appeared about half-way up the stairs, arms crossed. She looked even more fierce than she ever had, the shadows causing her features to grow even more noticeable.

"Unfortunately." Ben replied, his voice heavy with sleep.

It also hurt to speak, apparently.

"It's not my fault that you insist on drinking you're problems away," She had begun to step down the stairs. They squealed with protest. "Or that you showed up at my doorstep at _three_ this morning."

"Was it really that late?" He asked, quietly.

She had made to the bottom of the steps then, her body seemingly large above him. She always seemed larger than him. Better in morals, better in being clever, she always knew exactly how to intimidate people. Perhaps that was why Ben was so fond of her. Her weakness was never shown to anyone, not even to him. Even on the two occasion when he had _a lot_ of her.

"You should know better than to get into a tiff your girlfriend." Page said. "It only makes you mope."

Ben blinked. "What?"

Page sighed, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward in the room, past the couch and toward the large bay window that faced the street. Her shadow grew long, bending up the wall behind her. Ben watched her move, noticing the attractive bend in her waist as she walked. Her words sunk in, seeping through the ale haze that still over took his mind.

"Oh," Ben mumbled. "You mean Esther."

Her only response was a humorless chuckle. The action caused Ben to think of his long dead mother, buried in some rotting hole outside of Gunk. The thought made his stomach more upset. He arose from his lying position, much to horror of his limps. A long groan escaped his lips. He should have known better than to have drank. He always knew better than to drink, but when the want was strong enough he could hardly stop himself.

His body tingled uncomfortably as his stomach shifted inside him. Page remained still, her eyes watching the traffic outside her home; the people milling to and fro. Factory workers, most of them. Page had chosen to settle closest to the worst factories after the revolution. Not to mention keep a close eye on Reaver's activities. The scumbag had changed alligances so easily, it was enough to peak anyone's suspicions. Ben knew she wanted to feel the worst of Albion, to see what needed to be fixed first.

"That girl is going to run Bowerstone into the ground." Page mumbled, gazing out the window.

Feeling an electric current run through his spine, Ben shot his head up. He watched the woman before him. She remained very still, which was rare. Usually she was a fully of action, planning, fighting. Her body was a silhouette from the sunlight. He could barely tell the blob that was her head from the blob that was the rest of her body. He clenched his jaw and watched his tongue, daring not begin one of their verbal battles.

Page turned, her face covered by sunlight. She appeared nearly angelic.

"What, Ben?" She asked as he stared harshly at her. "She doesn't know what she's doing... You know I'm right."

His jaw was sore from the strain. Page _was_ right, of course, Esther hardly knew her left hand from her right when it came to running a country. She was much more adapt at running down enemies with her sword than conquering her dissenters with words and bureaucracy. Ben had seen her struggle endlessly with her temper in the throne room and more than a few times, she had indeed lost it, storming from the throne room in a rage.

Ben knew that Page was thinking of one such time, not that long ago. Page wanted to rebuild the Old quarter, which had fallen into ruin when they rushed that castle. The regent had opted for the more cost effective choice of leaving it as it was, wrecked and broken, in order to allocate some of the funds to the coming war effort. Page scoffed, anger rising.

"I wonder if I was right in supporting you," She hissed. "If this is any indication of your reign as _queen_."

The queen rose, red faced. Walter, stumbled toward her, to calm her, but it was too late. She had made up her mind.

"_Out!_" Esther proclaimed, a solitary, ruling finger pointed toward the door.

The relations between the two women had not been the same since.

"What is she?" Page was continuing. "Eighteen?"

"Twenty." Ben corrected quietly.

"Too young to rule a country in any case." Page mused.

Ben looked away, struggling to keep quiet. His gut cried to correct her, but his mind agreed solemnly with what she was saying.

Instead, he mumbled:

"Page, please, I just woke up."

She had moved from her place at the window to over sized arm chair that sat across the room from Ben. They sat in silence for a few, long, minutes, Ben leaning forward, hoping not spill his last meal onto the old hardwood.

"What happened yesterday?" Page attempted.

"Nothing really." Ben said. "Me and the queen had a wicked fist fight is all. She whopped my ass." He grinned sheepishly.

Page sighed. "No, really. What happened?"

"Walter gave me a wedgie?" Ben tried.

"Ben."

"She called me several mean and, I would say, politically incorrect things?"

Page leaned back, waving her hand to silence him. "Never mind."

The silence return in a giant wave, covering the room. Outside the clouds loomed over the golden sun, threatening to steal it away.

Clearly, Ben's attempt at lightening the mood had failed for both parties as Page's face had returned to the stiff, worried, look it had been just moments before. Ben could hear her coming words before she said them and could not steal himself against them, instead feeling his irritation rising with each passing second.

"How hard is it for her-" Page began and Ben broke.

The good humour he attempted to foster slipped from his mind just as easily as it arrived. All the resentment he had been suppressing for the last minute or two suddenly boiled to the surface.

"What do you want Page?" He asked quickly and lowly. "Would you rather having a _strong hand_ like Logan?"

Page physically felt the statement. She sat up straight, her chest coming forward as though she were to march into battle. Ben felt a part of him begin to cower in fear but he held himself steadfast. He was tired, hung-over and wanted to be left alone. If that meant that he had to fight to get it, then so be it.

"You know that's not what I want." She said. "You know I want what's best for Bowerstone – for Albion."

"Then have some faith in your ruler." Ben mumbled, running a hand through his mop of blonde. "Your queen."

Page raised her hands in annoyance, standing as she did so.

"I am supposed to have faith in a naive little rich girl who knows nothing about real struggle?" Page asked. "She _clearly_ can't even handle _you_ and you're _fucking in love with her_!"

Ben felt if the wind had been kicked out of him. He glared at Page, his face growing red with fury and shame.

"Shut up." He growled. "Just shut it."

"What!" Page was riled up. "Can't handle the truth? Well, Ben, that's the truth. She's a shit ruler and you're in love with _a child_."

Ben stood suddenly, feeling his body scream in protest. His headache had worsened. He really did want to sleep but knew that his sudden rise of emotion would not allow for him to be in the same room as Page for any moment longer. He made for the door.

Page saw this and said, "Good, get _the hell_ out of my house."

They shared one last, burning, look before Ben had swung open the door and made for the street. The door made a harsh slam behind him. Once again, it was just him and the streets of Bowerstone.

"_How can you say that your truth is better than our's?_

_Shoulder to shoulder, _

_Now brother,_

_We carry no arms."_

I Gave You All (Mumford & Sons)


	3. Chapter 2

P: IF YOU DON'T LIKE UGLY WORDS, DON'T READ.

This chapter was incredibly hard to write because when I first began it I told myself, "It's a bridging chapter, it won't take much." then it grew into this ugly monster that I couldn't contain.

Thanks so much for your patience! I hope I don't destroy it by this...

/

Ben walked. He walked for a long time, until he forgot where he was in the city or why he was still walking.

He wondered what he looked like, dressed as he was. His red army vest, when cleaned very proper, was busted open, revealing his undershirt in a very messy manner. Much of his hair was still in what place it had been when he awoken on Page's couch. As well, he hadn't realized it earlier, but the night before when he had been drinking, he had vomited on his left boot (also very proper looking when cleaned), leaving a ugly whiteish mark where it had landed.

Bowerstone was as busy as it ever was. People were everywhere, scattered about in their business. There was a bard playing down the street from where Ben was walking. He could hear the gossip about Aurora, how it's people were strange and couldn't be understood. He heard about Brighthall, how it's people were all hicks who had farm dirt where their brains should be. He even heard even a mention of Gunk as he walked, a distant echoing voice saying the word, but when he looked in the direction people only stared, startled, in return.

His eyes moved over the people surrounding him. They were returning the suspicious looks ten fold, pulling their children close and whispering to their company. He looked like scum. Like a criminal. Something ugly that he had fought his entire life not to be. He felt ashamed and proud all the same.

His brothers. He looked like his brothers.

He looked like his brothers all rolled up into one, messy, hung-over package. He was a gambler, a pick-pocket and a scoundrel. He scowled at himself, hating the thought.

At the bridge over the river, just outside of the market, he stopped. He stood with the beggars and watched the clouds move over the sun. It was going to rain again.

How much rain they had received, Ben didn't know, but it had been a significant amount. It rained often in Albion every year before hand, say two to three times a week, but from what Ben had seen, the rain was almost a constant throughout the days that Esther had been in rule. Even Logan's rule was filled with sunny days, perfect for children to play. That was if they weren't in a factory working their fingers to nothing.

There was one last shine from the sun before it hid itself away behind the clouds that gathered. Ben looked around.

People were beginning to recognize him, their eyes lingering on his uniform for more than what was deemed comfortable. Ben frowned. He picked up his boots and kept walking.

It had probably been hours since he had left Page. How many, Ben didn't know, but lunch had come and passed, followed by tea. The more he walked, the fewer people he saw. From the market district onward, the numbers were slowly decreasing. The buildings around him seemed to mirror this, their frames growing old and tired, lurching forward toward the cobblestone streets.

Rain had begun to hit the streets, slowly and calmly, from the sky above. The grey had turned to black, from the weather or the puffing smoke from the factories. Ben could tell that he was well within the depths of the Old quarter, falling apart as it was. People with money often avoided the area but since the revolution, more and more the squatters had moved in, taking over the abandoned homes as their own. It was dangerous to be there past dark. Or any time of day, really. It was outrageously unsafe, even for a well versed army general as Ben was.

Realizing this, he eyed the streets around him, looking for an exit. Much was unrecognizable from what it had been. He went left for the sake of going left, he really had no idea where he had ended up. From the far distance, he could see the castle. It was lighting up, the city growing dark around it. From the top, one by one, a light was put on. He could see Esther's study go alight and he looked away, frowning. He thought it best not to think about it, lest he be overwhelmed by angst once again.

His eyes went over a shadowed alley and caught a quick movement. Too sharp to be anything natural. His hand instantly went to his rifle at his side. Except it wasn't there. It was at home, in a chest, locked and safe. Of course, a trip to the castle for a routine wouldn't require a rifle. Idiot, Ben cursed himself.

Curiosity, however, got the best of him and he was pulled over to the alley. Slowly, he approached, his breathing quieting. There was a voice, hushed and rough. From this distance, he couldn't make it out. He came closer, pressing his back against the crumbling brick standing in for a building. He held his breath.

"You're prett' ain't ya?" The voice said. "Just like 'a flower."

A muffled scream.

Ben was out from behind the wall before he had realized it. He was full of rage, his body screaming to ring a neck. Preferably a would-be rapist's.

They were there, the two of them, hidden in the shadows. In coming closer, he could see the details. The white's of her eye's, the knife he held to her throat, the ugly yellow of his teeth. He was fuck ugly, which was no surprise. He felt disgust ripple through him.

Her eyes found him first and his followed quickly.

"Oi!" He cried. "This ain't no show, move along."

When Ben didn't respond, attempting to contain his rage from boiling over, the man grinned. He was missing a tooth. Or five.

He chuckled. "Ah, you're looking to double team, eh?" His face grew closer to the woman's. She attempted to flinch away. "Might not be such a bad idea, she looks feisty."

Ben was on him within a second, pushing him off the woman and onto the ground. He slammed his fist into the other man's face, breaking something with the blow. The fiend was stunned for a moment and Ben took the chance to slam his fist down again. And again. And again. He kept punching until his hand grew raw.

"Kill 'im!"

Ben stopped, startled. The woman had remained. He eyed her, suddenly aware of what was around him. He suddenly felt very cold.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" The woman cried. "Kill 'im!"

Everything was rushed, too quick. His breathing felt uneven and he blinked a little, confused at his own actions. He looked toward the man but couldn't catch a good before the rapist was on him, his own fist pummeling into Ben's features. Each hit was increasingly sharp pain, echoing throughout his body. He thought of getting shot, he thought of what it would feel like to die, his face beaten beyond recognition. He thought of Esther, in a vague sort of way, distant like the day they met.

He struggled against the beating, trying to grab at the other man's arms, fists or whatever his raw fingers could grab a hold of. But he was too quick, too full of manic rage. Ben was a solider no – _Captain, _like Swift – and he was about to die in an alley, vomit on his boot and at odds with the queen.

The world grew fuzzy and bloody. In the back of his throat he felt the blood drip his soon to be broken nose. His hands still wildly grabbed at the ragged cloth of other man's sleeves, begging for a reprieve.

And then suddenly there was. There was no pressure of fists, no pain of broken bones. He croaked out a breath, aware that he hadn't breathed in what seemed like hours. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Avo had struck down his attacker.

He blinked a little but couldn't because his eyes hurt too much to open them. He got up, very slowly, his body aching from every possible joint. Every breath felt like paradise in Hell, it hurt so much to do so. His lids veiled his vision, surrounding everything a greyish sort of fog. His ears rang like nothing he had heard before but in the distance, he could hear a woman, screaming in terror. The whore. He glanced about, looking for any person. His eyes were too swollen to see anything

Then there he was again, pounding his knee into Ben's stomach, gushing the air from his system. Blood spewed from his mouth onto the moist pavement. He fell to his side.

"You're goin' to get me fuckin' caught!" The man exclaimed. "I'm goin' to get hanged for this!"

Ben looked up toward the sky, seeing the man's panicked face as he did so.

"She buggered right, didn' she?" He cried. "Right off to th' guard."

Ben sucked in a painful breath and said, "Serves you right."

When the man's eyes, yellowed and blood-shot, met his own, Ben spat and finished his sentiment.

"You _fucking ugly cunt_."

The man's boot heel came fast and furious toward Ben, but it seemed slow for a brief period of time. He thought of nothing except silence and perhaps a peace, but it was short. The heel slammed his harshly against forehead.

Then,

there was

nothing

but

black.

"_You know what hope is,_

_Hope is a bastard,_

_Hope is a liar,_

_A cheat and a tease."_

-Picture Window (Ben Fold & Nick Hornby)


End file.
